A Different Set of Rules
by BenjaminHartman
Summary: Red Reddington, known in this story as "The Client" comes in and forces a banker Nathan Emerson to launder 2.5 million at gun point. Emerson struggles morally with laundering the money, but is grateful that someone like "The Client" is actually making use of his skills and taking advantage of his knowledge. The question: will Emerson launder the money or turn on Reddington?


My name is Nathan Emerson and I hated my job as a Banker. I held a coveted position, the only person in my branch who knew how to handle international transactions. I never seemed to have enough money, and the aches and pains I suffered from made my job unbearable. For instance, sitting in that infernal chair practically made me a hunchback, or having developed carpal tunnel from constantly typing on a computer keyboard without wrist supports. Then there were the headaches from the fluorescent lighting where I consumed aspirin tablets as though they were candy. On top of all of this, I swore that I was going to go blind if I stared at that computer screen for one more afternoon.

This wasn't what life was supposed to be like. College made it seem like this line of work would be enjoyable or at least interesting. I hoped to dine with international businessmen and golf with shipping magnates. Instead I answered the same god awful questions over and over again in the email chain. I had to exchange dollars for euros on behalf of snobby college kids who were blowing their parents tuition money to go to Europe for a "year off." I also created worthless spreadsheets of exchange rates that no one really checked because they were always asking ME!

There had to be more to life than this. I saw banking executives who were able to play golf on sunny afternoons, while I had to sit behind and create more spreadsheets. My boss always kept me at the branch at least until 5 p.m., sometimes later because I was on the phone answering more stupid questions. I figured that all I had to do was endure. "Just white knuckle it and one day you'll become an executive too," I thought to myself.

It was a particularly bright and beautiful Friday afternoon. I had nothing left to do except watch the clock run out. I wish I could've left early, but my boss wouldn't let me. I stared at the computer screen. The stupid cursor just sat there, blinked, and waited for me to type another number into the Excel spreadsheet. Suddenly, my phone rang and broke the silence. It was Annie, one of the delightful teller girls downstairs. I picked up the phone, "Yeah Annie?"

"Hi Nate! There's someone here to see you. Said he needs some kind of letter of credit or currency swap something or other, he said you'd know." Annie was cute, and great with people, but she wasn't particularly bright.

I chuckled a little bit. "Alright Annie. I'll be right down, thanks," I clicked down the phone. I hoped, no, begged that I was going to be dealing with someone who knew what they were talking about. If I had to exchange another thousand dollars for euros...although, Annie said something about a letter of credit. That's not the normal request. Maybe this customer does know something I thought. I walked down the stairs, and Annie pointed to one of our glass cubicles where the client was seated.

There were two men: the one sitting down was a fit guy, wearing a wide brimmed hat and kept low over his brow, icy blue eyes and looked as though he'd missed three days of shaving. The second, was a bald black man with a protruding nose, like a vulture's beak. He was hovering over the seated man, as though he was a bodyguard. The bodyguard's sunken eyes were cold, a blackish brown that when combined with his scowl, could send shivers up your spine.

The client noticed me walking towards him and once inside the glass cubicle he greeted me. "Mr. Emerson I presume," the client stood and extended his hand to me.

"Yes and you are…?" I asked back politely.

"You will find out soon enough," the client responded while adjusting his coat. "The cashier up there told me that you're the one who knows the most about international banking and understands international wire transfers," the man's voice was low and raspy, like he was trying to keep a low profile. His deep blue eyes darted back and forth, surveying everyone in the bank. I got that feeling in my gut that I wasn't going to like what this guy had to say.

"Yes, I know quite a bit about international transactions. What can I do for you then?" I replied nervously. Something was off about this guy, but I couldn't put my finger on it. His hovering guard blocked the glass door once it closed and made me even more nervous. They way the bodyguard looked at me gave me a feeling of being trapped in a glass prison.

"Well, Mr. Emerson. I have a bit of a problem. One of my associates stupidly gave me a large sum of cash, with no means of how to get it into my account. Why he didn't think about this ahead of time is complete stupidity on his part. What I need from you Mr. Emerson, is to make this disappear," the man said while he gently placed a steel briefcase on my desk. He reached into his coat, pulled out a sheet of paper and a small device of some sort, handed me the sheet of paper and sat back down. He was fiddling with the device as he was sitting down.

I was suspicious as to what I was going to find in this briefcase. The bodyguard kept his eyes on me, watching my every move. I kept feeling that this was going to go from bad to worse very quickly. I swallowed hard as I unlocked the clasps on the briefcase and lifted up the lid. There were dozens of bank notes neatly organized and wrapped. "There has got to be about…" I started to mutter. I couldn't believe how many bank notes were in this briefcase. This is an amount I see in movies, not sitting on a desk in front of me.

"Two point five million dollars to be exact," the client divulged. "It's not a large sum by today's standards, but I still need it gone." I looked down from the man's face and realized in horror what the device he was fiddling with was: it was a silencer he had attached to a pistol and that pistol was pointed directly at me! My heart thundered in my chest and I felt my body suddenly go weak. My breaths were shallow. My sight grew blurry because of the rush of chemicals in my head. I almost wanted to cry out "Don't kill me!" like a blithering idiot, but I knew that would not help me in this situation.

"Take a deep breath Mr. Emerson. Yes I have a gun trained on you. I am also an excellent shot. Please keep your hands above the desk, because if you trigger any alarms, I will kill everyone in this branch and walk out, never to be found. I'm a ghost, and know how to disappear just as easily," the client said to me calmly.

I took a deep breath. Inhaled and then exhaled. This man was clever. He had his bodyguard block the glass door so that the cameras and the teller girls couldn't see him, and he had his gun hidden well enough under his coat that anyone looking in would assume he was merely sitting slightly awkwardly.

"I will compensate you for your services of course Mr. Emerson. Twenty five thousand will be yours if you do as I ask," the man said to me coolly. It was like he was trying to sound reassuring, but for some reason he didn't strike me as one who could provide comfort very well.

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "First of all, I obviously can't just wire two point five million to a different account. We have software in place which keeps track of our transactions. Anything over a three thousand dollar transaction we have to make a note of and anything ten thousand or over we have to report to the treasury," I explain in a shaking, but forced calm tone to the client.

"I know just about everything concerning the money laundering laws of the United States Mr. Emerson. What I need is for you to tell me my options and get me around those software transaction lists." I pushed my mind to find a solution. I felt stuck for a moment, but I take another deep breath.

"Not to sound disrespectful, but don't you have someone who can handle something like this already? I'm not experienced in this area and I'm not saying I would do so intentionally, but handling this is going to take a lot of transactions. I don't know if I'm the best person to help you…" the client held his hand up, and cut me off.

"Mr. Emerson, I am short on time. That is why I came to you. I would think that it would be in your best interest to solve this puzzle because if you can't...well...I don't have much use for you…" the client's raspy voice now dripped venom. His icy demeanor signaled what would happen if I didn't comply.

"Alright, this list here. They're account numbers?" I asked, and pulled the sheet of paper towards me. The client nodded his head silently. "Okay. Well, I can do some layering of transactions. I'm going to assign random deposit amounts, each of them individually totaling less than a thousand dollars. I'll also perform some currency exchanges to some of the transactions so that this will help with the layering, but this will add fees…?" I looked over, essentially asking for approval.

"That will work Mr. Emerson," the client nodded his assent.

"This process will also take a little bit of time, breaking down this much money on such short notice will cause suspicion," I also explained to the client. I wanted full discretion so that he had no cause to harm anyone here in the bank.

"Fortunately I didn't have any other plans for today Mr. Emerson. Do what you need to do," the client said back to me calmly.

As I started breaking down the money and performing the transactions, I realized that this man was really smart. He had corporations all over the world set up for these kinds of transactions. The names of the companies were a scrambled mess of partner names, most likely shell corporations and while this is the kind of thing they taught you to look out for when they trained us to detect money laundering, there really is nothing we can do about it other than play on the honor system and report the transactions. However, like it or not, I was an accomplice. These account numbers led to the Cayman Islands, the Isle of Man, numbered Swiss Bank Accounts, Singapore, anywhere that was considered a banking safe haven, the client had account numbers in that country.

"Mr. Emerson, are you aware that the United States is one of the only countries in the world which considers money laundering a serious crime? In countries banks don't really see it as any of their concern," the client said quietly to me. I know he was trying to make small talk, trying to comfort me, but my fingers flew across the keyboard, focused on making his money disappear. I kept thinking of how I'm going to be ruined after today. If anyone looked at our transaction reports for the week, I'll be found out for sure. At the same time, there was a thrill to moving all of this money. I felt like I was actually doing something useful, even if it was a serious crime. I felt like someone actually needed my help, and this definitely wasn't information that can be found in the company's handbook, nor have I ever been asked about it.

The client realized that I wasn't into talking right then, so he looked around the cubicle a little bit. He saw one of the magazines on the table, placed the gun in his lap, picked up the magazine and started to read it. I noticed that he put the gun down, but movement from his bodyguard revealed that now he was putting a silencer on the end of his pistol. The bodyguard held the pistol up lightly, just to show I was still at gunpoint. I swallowed hard, and kept typing.

The client read an article out of _Field & Stream_. "You know, I never really understood the desire to pay thousands of dollars to shoot an animal. Seems unsportsmanlike, especially when you hire a guide to take you to one of said animals." It seemed like he was more talking out loud to himself than he was to either me or his bodyguard. He kept thumbing through the magazine, looking for some article to spark his interest. Finally reaching the end, he slapped the magazine back onto the table and sighed out loud.

The tension in the room seemed to be dying down. At this point, I didn't feel like my life was in complete danger since I was doing as the client had asked, but money laundering wasn't something I could claim ignorance about in court. That wasn't my concern anymore really, I just couldn't get over the excitement of breaking the rules here. I issued over hundreds, if not thousands of transactions, all meant to throw off those who checked our records. I issued the deposits from different branches, used different people's codes and names from across the company since I was required to memorize them anyway. I used people in our branch for any domestic transactions, making the money disappear in any way possible.

"One thing I'm doing here is having the deposits issued from all around the city at various branches. It'll look like you've been all over the city this week, but if you're okay with that…?" the client nodded. "You also picked a good time for some of these currency transactions. Spring break for college students is next week. I can easily claim more are traveling this year than in previous years," I explained.

"Very good Mr. Emerson. The mind becomes unbelievably creative when put to the test," the client replied to me as he was thumbing through _Good Housekeeping_. "Do you have a family Mr. Emerson?" the client asked, his voice dripping honey now but was still staring intently inside the magazine.

"No, it's just me. Haven't found a woman that I want to marry yet," I replied as I typed along the keyboard.

"Marriage is a lot of work. I was going to suggest some recipes I found in here to surprise your special someone, but that's irrelevant now," the client said, placing the magazine back down.

"I do have a question for you though," I told the client. He stared at me stoically, his face was not moving, but he seemed receptive to hear what I had to say. "Several of your accounts here are at Swiss banks. How'd you manage to get accounts in Switzerland? Aren't they really strict with Americans?"

The client gave me a slight smirk, almost mockingly as he sat in silence for nearly a full minute, and internally debated whether to tell me or not. "Secondary citizenship," was all he finally said.

"What? Do you have dual-citizenship with Switzerland and the United States or something?" I asked.

"You have a lot to learn about the world Mr. Emerson," the client replied in a condescending tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped back at him.

"I meant no offense Mr. Emerson. In fact, I sympathize with you. There was a time when I never left my office. Days slid by in the breeze as I watched the sun rise and set from behind my desk. All of that was...before I learned to play by a different set of rules," the client explained to me.

"Like forcing bankers to launder money at gunpoint?" my verbal jab was low, but as far as I was concerned, all bets were off now. Something deep inside caused me to say that. A part of me that was sick of feeling trapped like a rat.

"Extenuating circumstances forced my hand on that one Mr. Emerson. I'm talking about seizing the day and no longer giving a damn about the consequences any more. It's unbelievably freeing really. Also remember that the gun is about using "the stick" as motivation. I have also offered you twenty five thousand dollars as your "carrot" once the transactions are complete."

"Yeah, you're a real saint," I muttered as I stared at the computer screen, finishing things up. This was my second lash against the client. His gaze on me was hard and unrelenting. My fingers flew across the keyboard until I made the final deposits.

"There, done," I said to both of the men and turned my monitor around to show them. "The final amount will be well over two point four million accounting for all of the foreign exchange transaction fees along with a few wiring fees. I assure you, all of the money went where it was supposed to," I said to the client.

"Very good Mr. Emerson. Now, what of your bank's specialist on money laundering?" the client asked me, holding his pistol back up to remind me it was still in his possession.

"He skims the reports at best. You're going to become about 42 families I spoke to this week about going on vacation to the Caribbean. I made all of these transactions today because I put it off until the last minute," I responded and shrugged my shoulders, which I hoped persuaded the client.

"When does he check everything?" the client asked.

"Next inspection will be a week from yesterday," I replied.

"Then I believe we're done here," the client nodded, then turned to his bodyguard. "Dembe, would you be so kind as to compensate Mr. Emerson here?" Dembe's eyes didn't leave me as he removed several bank notes from the inside of his jacket, counted them up, then placed them inside of an envelope on the desk.

Dembe held the door open for the client. At the door, the client paused and said, "Mr. Emerson, take thought with what I told you earlier. Be free. Enjoy your life. Start with taking that attractive teller out to dinner. She may not be as bright as you and I, but she's delightfully charming. One doesn't find many women like that," the client said as he adjusted his coat. Once it was buttoned up, he walked out of the bank, his bodyguard following closely behind. They'd left the briefcase behind, with the money still inside. I had to take care of it somehow, most likely once everyone else went home. It was just after closing, so everyone was prepared to go home for the weekend.

I sat back down in my chair, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. I'd survived, and my heart was pounding so hard in my chest that my head throbbed from the blood flow. I looked at my watch and realized an hour had passed. My attention turned to the envelope full of money the client had left me. Twenty five thousand dollars, for an hour's worth of work. That lone envelope was about half of my normal salary. If I told the authorities, I would certainly have to give it up. The trouble was, the client's words echoed in my head:

" _...play by a different set of rules…"_ As I sat quietly in my chair for the next ten minutes, that's all I heard in my head. All my life I'd tried playing by the book, following the rules and I'm miserable for it. This, the money laundering...it made me feel alive. It made me feel useful. I actually felt like what I'd learned and knew in my position here had real value.

" _...play by a different set of rules…"_ Why couldn't I do that? Why couldn't I position myself as a laundering specialist in the banking field? I could take on clients and help maneuver their funds…but that would be illegal.

Still, playing by the rules of society made me miserable. Perhaps there could be something to this idea. At least now I thought I might actually start to feel alive…

"Hey Nate are you all set in here?" Annie asked me sweetly.

"Yeah, Annie. Let me clear out for you," I replied.

"Aww, no rush! I'm just closing up here!" Annie waved her hand in the air.

"Hey Annie, how about I take you out to dinner tonight? My treat."

"Oh Nate, I'd love to! Let me just finish up down here. Did that client forget his briefcase?"

"Oh, I can take care of that!" I slapped the lid on the briefcase shut. I figured I could get all of the money into the vaults early on Monday morning. "Now, how about that dinner?" I asked Annie.

"Let me go get my coat!" She turned, shut the lights off and walked to the office in back.

"...play by a different set of rules…"

The game had changed.

-The End-


End file.
